Reilly and the bishop traversed a wild and remote part of the country, in which there was nothing to be seen but long barren wastes, over which were studded, here and there, a few solitary huts; upon its extremity, however, there were some houses of a more comfortable description, the habitations of middling farmers, who possessed small farms at a moderate rent. As they went along, the prelate addressed Reilly in the following-terms:
“Mr. Reilly,” said he, “I would advise you to get out of this unhappy country as soon as you can.”
“My lord,” replied Reilly, who was all candor and truth, and never could conceal his sentiments, at whatever risk, “I cannot think of leaving the country, let the consequences be what they may. I will not trouble your lordship with my motives, because they are at variance with your character and religious feelings; but they are not at variance with religion or morality. It is enough to say that I wish to prevent a beautiful and innocent girl from being sacrificed. My lord, you know too well that persecution is abroad; and when I tell you that, through the influence which this admirable creature has over her father—who, by the way, has himself the character of a persecutor—many Catholics have been protected by him, I am sure you will not blame me for the interest which I feel in her fate. In addition to this, my lord, she has been a ministering angel to the Catholic poor in general, and has contributed vast sums, privately, to the relief of such of our priesthood as have been brought to distress by the persecution of the times. Nay, she has so far influenced her father that proscribed priests have found refuge and protection in his house.”
The bishop, on hearing this, stood, and taking off his hat, raised his right hand, and said: “May the blessing of the Almighty God rest upon her, and guard her from the snares of those who would make her unhappy! But, Reilly, as you say you are determined, if possible, to rescue her from ruin, you know that if you go at large in your usual dress you will unquestionably be taken. I advise you, then, to disguise yourself in such a way as that you will not, if possible, be known.”
“Such, my lord, is my intention—but who is this? what—eh—yes, 'tis Fergus O'Reilly, a distant and humble relation of mine who is also in disguise. Well, Fergus, where have you been for some time past?”
“It would be difficult to tell that, God knows; I have been everywhere—but,” he added in a whisper, “may I speak freely?”
“As free as the wind that blows, Fergus.”
“Well, then, I tell you that Sir Robert Whitecraft has engaged me to be on the lookout for you, and said that I would be handsomely rewarded if I could succeed in enabling the scoundrel to apprehend you.”
“But how did that come about, Fergus?”
“Faith, he met me one day—you see I have got a bag at my back—and taking me for a beggarman, stopped me on the road. 'I say, you, poor man,' says he, 'what's your name?' 'Paddy M'Fud,' says I—'I belong to the M'Fuds of Ballymackknockem.' 'You're a beggar,' says he, 'and travel from place to place about the country.' 'It's true enough, your honor,' I replied, 'I travel about a good deal, of coorse, and it's only that way that I get my bit and sup.' 'Do you know the notorious villain called Willy Reilly'?' 'Not by sight, your honor, but I have often heard of him. Wasn't he in love with the beautiful Cooleen Bawn, Squire Folliard's daughter?' 'That's not the question between us,' he said, 'but if you enable me to catch Reilly, I will give you twenty pounds.' 'Well, your honor,' says I, 'lave the thing to myself; if he is to be had it'll go hard but I'll find him.' 'Well, then,' says he, 'if you can tell me where he is I will give you twenty pounds, as I said.' 'Well, sir,' says I, 'I expect to hear from you; I am not sure he's in the country—indeed they say he is not—but if he is, I think I'll find him for you;' and so we parted.”